


Flaming Like Anything

by LylaRivers



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a BAMF, Aziraphale is a cherub, Jewish Good Omens, M/M, im gonna rub my grubby hands all over everything and make it MORE jewish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 10:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21474844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LylaRivers/pseuds/LylaRivers
Summary: The imp’s eyes widen in surprise, and Aziraphale brandishes the tree branch with the grace of a natural born fighter. He swings the branch, and the imp crumples with a resounding thwack on the ground.Above all else, Aziraphale was created to be a Divine Warrior. That doesn't change just because he gave his sword away.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 388





	Flaming Like Anything

The first time it happens, Aziraphale is fending off a demon in the city-state of Ur. He’s been trying to dodge this particular imp for almost a day, since he has no weapon on hand to defend himself with. He tries to lead the imp out of the city as much as possible, to the empty desert away from the river. There will at least be no witnesses to his unfortunate demise. 

The imp catches up to him, and Aziraphale resigns himself to the paperwork of a discorperation. He grabs the tree branch with the intent of at least being obnoxious to discorperate. After all, it’s a bit of a sad comedown for a cherub to be felled by a low ranking imp, of all demons. 

To his immense surprise, the part of the branch furthest from him starts to flame. The imp’s eyes widen in surprise, and Aziraphale brandishes the tree branch with the grace of a natural born fighter. He swings the branch, and the imp crumples with a resounding  _ thwack _ on the ground. 

Hmm. 

Aziraphale releases the branch, and the fire fizzles out. He leans over the branch, careful not to touch it, so that he can inspect the wood. The branch is wholly unburnt- there isn’t a single char mark to be found. 

Odd. He picks up the branch again- the branch remains a branch. No crackle of fire, no Divine Fury and Righteousness. He swings the branch around, but there’s no spark of flame that flies through the air. 

He thinks about the imp, and fighting for his lif… well, perhaps not his life, per se, but his corporation, at least. The branch bursts into flames, crackling with Divine Power and Intent. When he stops thinking fighting thoughts, the branch obligingly extinguishes itself. 

Aziraphale leaves the branch behind, and picks up a stone. Nothing happens. He tosses it in the air a few times and catches it- nothing out of the ordinary for a stone. 

He thinks about hurling it into the imp’s body, still crumpled on the ground. Sure enough, the stone blazes to life, filling his hand with Holy Flame. The fire doesn’t burn him, nor does it hurt. It tickles, almost, like tiny electric shocks massaging his hand. He hurls the stone at the imp, where it flames, setting the imp’s clothing rags on fire. The imp’s body burns, rendering the unfortunate corporation to ash and dust, and the fire burns itself out as Aziraphale watches. Then, he reaches into the mess of imp that was, and pulls out the stone. 

There isn’t a scratch on the rock- not a burn, not a char, not even a speck of soot. 

Aziraphale returns to Ur, deep in thought. 

***

It’s not a trick he pulls out often. When it’s all said and done, after all, he doesn’t like to fight, despite his origin as a Holy Soldier of the Almighty. He despises violence, and hates the endless struggle of pain and hurt. 

Perhaps, he thinks sometimes, this is his fault. This never ending cycle of violence, the hatred, the hurt… before the humans were cast out of Eden, there was no cruelty. He gave them the first weapon. He remembers Cain as a young boy, unduly fascinated by the flaming sword. He did, after all, give away his sword that was meant to guard the way to the Tree of Life, rather than do the duty that was charged to him, in keeping the humans out. 

Given what came next… does it not follow that the boy’s actions towards his brother were influenced by the obsession with his father’s sword, literally Heaven- sent? 

It’s a bitter thought- one unworthy of him, one that questions the Ineffable, and his role in the Plan. Surely if Adam had not been meant to be able to wield the sword, he would not have been able to take hold of it to protect Chava. The Holy Fire would have burned the first man, would have deemed him unworthy. 

Either way, he doesn’t like to fight. Fortunately, Principalities rarely need to fight, not like he had to when he was a cherub. Most of his true form is bound with the demotion, and he does not appear to have access to most of his angelic powers. Cherub to Principality was quite a fall for something that appears to have been part of the ineffable plan, all things considered. 

His true form is somehow leashed in, the lion, ox, and eagle faces obscured from view, and a set of wings bound in the ether. It itches abominably, but there’s little that can be done. 

Still, Aziraphale has never complained. Cherubim guard the Holiest of spaces, and Aziraphale has never been one for flying around, inanely chanting “Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts”. Not that he has anything against proclaiming the holiness of the Almighty as a rule- it’s just that doing the same thing over and over again for all eternity doesn’t interest him. 

Humans are so much more interesting, always doing new things. As a Principality, he’s free to roam the Earth, spreading goodwill directly, and experiencing each new wonder humanity has created. 

That’s not to say he never has to fight, on Earth. Most humans can be dissuaded by the bumbling exterior that he affects, aided by a small glamor- don’t pay attention to me, nothing interesting or scary to see here. He’s always found that simply proclaiming “be not afraid” doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. Demons, however, are not so easily dissuaded. 

It’s not often he sees another demon besides Crowley hanging around Earth. Even Crowley he doesn’t see too often, in the beginning. The two of them, even early on, have a tacit agreement to spare the other the paperwork and the nuisance of discorperation, as Heaven and Hell’s respective full time agents on Earth. 

That being said, he has no problems discorperating other demons, with extreme prejudice. The imp in Mesopotamia may be the first time he brandishes a non-weapon with the intent to harm, but it’s certainly not the last. 

***

Armageddon comes and goes, mostly unremarked on. Adam sends Lucifer packing, warping reality so that he is not and has never been Satan’s son. Aziraphale and Crowley outwit their respective employers, and continue on their merry way. 

Still, Aziraphale is always wary. Neither Heaven nor Hell is known for giving up easily, after all. The two of them made a fool of the upper management for both of their employers, and it’s not like either of them to let it go. 

It takes them two years, but it appears that he was right to worry. He had left Crowley to mind the bookshop, so that he could go to acquire some new books from an online seller. When he arrives back at the shop a few hours later, there’s a stench of evil so overpowering it nearly chokes him. 

_ Crowley! _ Aziraphale thinks, panicked. 

He races into the bookshop, shoving his newly acquired package on the nearest flat surface. Several demons are milling through his carefully cultivated shelves. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” one of the demons calls. 

“Show yourself, you damn coward,” another demon demands. 

Aziraphale inches towards the door, and pulls a cream umbrella from the umbrella stand. He very deliberately thinks neutral thoughts until he gets into the middle of the shop. Then, very loudly, he calls, “I rather hope that coward comment wasn’t directed towards me!”

“Bless it!” “It’s the angel!” “Get him!” the cacophony of demons yells to each other, rushing towards him. 

_ Intruders! How dare they! _ Aziraphale thinks to himself.  _ They will know the true meaning of Wrath! _ Right on cue, the umbrella bursts into Holy Flame. Aziraphale brandishes the flaming umbrella with both hands, settling into a fighting stance. One of the demons runs full tilt at him, and Aziraphale slams into them with the umbrella turned sword. The demon shrieks and crumples to the ground. 

The other demons prove themselves to be at least slightly smarter than their fellow. They pause in their mad rush, and consider their fallen comrade. 

“What are you dolts waiting for? Get him so we can find the snake!” a slimy voice yells. 

Ah. Somehow, they knew that Crowley would be in here. It’s not as though the two of them had made a big secret of living together, after all. 

“But Duke Hastur, he killed Alastor!” one of the demons protests. 

“Killed, or just discorperated? There’s a difference, dolt. If there’s still a body, Alastor will show back up in Hell,” the slimy voice, Duke Hastur says. 

“If you’re so smart, you attack him with us!” another demon says, this voice a little more nervous. 

“You know, I’m perfectly happy to let the lit of you run back off to Hell, if you’d kindly swear to leave us alone,” Aziraphale says reasonably. 

Hastur appears from behind a bookshelf. “Give us the traitor, and we’ll be own our way.”

“Hmmm, I had so hoped you’d be reasonable,” Aziraphale sighs. “Last chance to turn tail and leave us alone.”

“You idiots, it’s only an umbrella. Get him!” Hastur shrieks. The four remaining demons rush him on the Duke of Hell’s command. 

Aziraphale sighs, and cracks his neck. As the first demon reaches him, he slams into the demon’s side. The demon tries to skip out of the way, but instead rams into another demon, who’s rushing Aziraphale from the other side. Aziraphale turns, and dodges this demon’s blow, to ram the umbrella down on another demon’s skull. This demon has no defense, and crumples to the floor. 

The other three rush him in concert. Aziraphale ducks and dodges, twisting and moving. He makes full use of his superior knowledge of the shop, keeping the demons moving through the shop’s labyrinth of shelves. 

As Aziraphale moves through the shop, he feels a slight pressure on his foot. Surprised, he looks down. Crowley has slithered onto his shoe in snake form. He brings his tail to his mouth in a clear handless ‘shh, quiet’ gesture, and slides up Aziraphale’s pant leg. Aziraphale shrugs mentally and keeps going. Crowley will be safest with him, anyways. 

He catches another demon by surprise at the end of a shelf. This demon he dispatches handily with blow that catches the demon in the stomach. The demon hits the ground with a soft ‘oof’. 

One down, two plus Hastur to go. 

The last two have at least a few more brains than the others. They’re working together, trying to cover each other’s backs. That doesn’t stop Aziraphale from sneaking around them to pop out from behind a shelf and brain one of them with his umbrella. The unfortunate demon crumples, and the remaining demon runs for it. Aziraphale launches the umbrella like a javelin at them, and it lodges in the demon’s back, flames catching onto the demon’s clothes. 

Hastur appears, clapping slowly. “Very well done, Principality, very well done indeed. You seem to have just one problem, though. You seem quite… unarmed.”

“Cherub,” Aziraphale corrects calmly. 

“Excuse me?”

“You called me a Principality. I’m actually a cherub,” Aziraphale corrects. “Let me let you in on a little secret, Duke Hastur. A cherub is  _ never _ unarmed.”

The Duke of Hell pales slightly, almost imperceptible against the coating of grime on his face. “Crawley’s reports said Principality!” 

“ _ Crowley’s _ reports were incomplete, as was his knowledge,” Aziraphale says, emphasizing the slight vowel distinction rather more than strictly necessary. “She placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to guard the way of the tree of life. Honestly, don’t you demons read?” The whole while, he looks around him, searching for something he could use as a weapon. 

Nothing. Short of using his fists, and punching Hastur, which he doesn’t fancy, there’s nothing around him. No solid object to bludgeon with, nothing with any kind of… reach. 

Aziraphale has a very bad thought. 

His Holy Fire doesn’t actually touch whatever object he uses as a weapon. Crowley has  _ reach _ , particularly in snake form. 

He pops out his wings- and both sets spring into existence. In the distraction created by his wings (and Aziraphale himself tries not to get distracted by both sets appearing), Aziraphale reaches down, and grabs hold of Crowley. “Stay still for me, dear,” Aziraphale whispers. Crowley the snake has only a few seconds to comically widen his eyes, before Aziraphale advances on Hastur, wielding a red bellied black snake that bursts into flames before his eyes. 

“What?” Hastur shrieks, wisely backing up, away from Aziraphale. 

“You know, the standard phrase here is ‘be not afraid’, but I think you should be very afraid, Duke Hastur,” Aziraphale says, advancing towards him. “Now, if you ever darken my or Crowley’s very  _ shadows _ again, this little discorperation will look like the very definition of mercy,” he says, winding up his arm. Crowley curls up around his forearm, sparking away. Aziraphale bursts into a run, and flings his arm towards Hastur. Obligingly, Crowley shoots his body out straight, ramming into the Duke of Hell with a satisfying  _ thwack _ . Hastur shrieks, and crumples to the ground. 

Immediately, Aziraphale drops Crowley on the ground, and he stops flaming. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

The snake morphs into a very disgruntled human shaped being. “Aziraphale. Darling. Love of my life. If you  _ ever _ do that to me again, I will discorperate you in the most painful way I know,” Crowley snaps.

“I didn’t know what else to fight him with, dearest,” Aziraphale says, kneeling down to check for injuries. As expected, Crowley is (at least externally) unharmed. 

“‘Ss alright. At least I’m alive to tell the tale,” Crowley says, softening at his worried fluttering. “Angel, your wings are still out.”

Aziraphale turns his head. “Oh, yes. I suppose they are,” he says. 

“You never told me you were a bloody cherub.”

“Well, I was, originally. After the debacle in the Garden of Eden, I was demoted,” Aziraphale explains. 

“From cherub to  _ Principality _ ?” Crowley asks incredulously. 

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale says, suddenly self conscious. “My true form was contained and my secondary wings bound in the ether. I rather suspect the constraints on my angelic powers were somewhat more so than the average Principality, but then…”

“Did Gabriel do this?” Crowley asks, golden eyes narrowing. 

“He did,” Aziraphale affirms. “He carried it out, at least.”

“I’m gonna kill the bloody bastard,” Crowley hisses. 

“Come now, dear. My wings popped out just now, both sets of them! No harm done!” Aziraphale says nervously. He doesn’t need Crowley charging out on some foolhardy mission to show Gabriel the error of his ways. 

“Gabriel is a right prick,” Crowley snarls, but he does at least seem to physically calm down. Some. 

“We can certainly agree on that. But why not let six thousand year old bygones be bygones, hmm?”

“Next point of interest- why didn’t you tell me you’re a bloody cherub?” Crowley demands, pushing himself up to a sitting position. 

Ah. “It was hardly relevant, at the time,” Aziraphale says, nervous again. “As we previously established, Gabriel bound my true form. For all intents and purposes, I  _ was _ a Principality. That being said, it was recorded in the book of Beresheit.”

“Ah, yes, the book that burns me to touch and makes my eyes bleed if I read it for too long,” Crowley drawls. “Of course. That book.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot about that.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Oh, he  _ forgot _ . Anything else you’re forgetting to tell me, angel?”

“We’re sitting in a bookshop filled with six discorperated demon bodies?” Aziraphale asks. 

“Urgh,” Crowley grumbles. 

“Yes, the clean up will be quite… involved,” Aziraphale agrees. “I suppose we could just get them in one spot and burn the lot of them.” 

“Not in the bookshop!” Crowley panics. 

“No, no, we can put them in the back alley behind the shop and burn them there,” Aziraphale soothes, well aware of the demon’s aversion to fire. 

They do just that, dragging the corpses into the back alley of the shop. Aziraphale draws a circle around them, and blesses it. “Baruch atah, Adonai, Elohaynu melech ha’olam, boray me’oray ha’aysh.”

“Really, angel?” Crowley asks. “Fiery lights?”

Aziraphale picks up a branch dropped by an overhanging tree, and summons his Angelic Wrath. It lights up with fire, and he pokes the top body with it, holding until it fully catches on fire. He drops the branch into the circle with the rest of the bodies, and they watch the whole thing go up. “It just felt appropriate, given the events of the day.”

Crowley wraps an arm around his shoulders as they watch the bodies burn. “In the future, I’d appreciate some warning before you turn me into the Amazing Snake Torch.”

“I’ll do my best, dear,” Aziraphale agrees. They seal the deal with a kiss. 

****

**Author's Note:**

> Fic thanks to this beautiful post: https://thepoetoftime.tumblr.com/post/188956643056/re-flaming-like-anything-prompt   
Aziraphale is a cherub, y’all! Genesis 3:24 translates thusly: “So He drove out the man: and He placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep/guard the way of the tree of life.” (Translation from Webster’s Bible). Aziraphale is the guardian of the EASTERN gate.   
Chava- the Hebrew name for Eve. Possibly derived from the word “chai”, meaning life. Interestingly, in the original Hebrew, “Adam” is less of a name than a title the Hebrew is always written “ha-adam”, which literally means the man.   
“Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts”- taken from Isaiah 6:3, the vision of G-d’s throne, with seraphim flying around it. I’ve taken a bit of liberty by including the cherubim in this vision as well.   
Beresheit- literally ‘in the beginning’ or ‘at the head’. The first word in the five books of Moses, as well as the first book of the five books of Moses.   
The blessing Aziraphale says is traditionally said for Havdalah, the ceremony separating the day of rest (Shabbat, which is holy) from the rest of the week. It translates as follows: Blessed are You, God, our Lord, King of the universe, Creator of the fiery lights.


End file.
